


radio: unown

by romanesquisse



Series: Kotone Cinematic Universe [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: HeartGold & SoulSilver | Pokemon HeartGold & SoulSilver Versions
Genre: fic/series officially started on july 13 2020 i'm just late to posting, slowly gonna add other character tags once they appear more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanesquisse/pseuds/romanesquisse
Summary: There is a stranger under your own skin and it takes you a second to realize it's you. These are your hands—outstretched, reaching for your bag—and this is your heart, beating in no pattern, erratic and weary.
Series: Kotone Cinematic Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039357
Kudos: 4





	radio: unown

Sometimes he looks at you as if you were the face in the missing person posters. Which is wrong, definitely wrong, but the more his gaze weighs down on you with regret, the more you feel as if you shouldn't have been here.

But New Bark Town is home.

It feels just like it—though you've moved around so much that you aren't really sure. you keep some of your things in boxes still untouched, gathering dust, and your mom scolds you. you only offer a quick smile and a "just in case."

She does not comment. She leaves your room because you both know how you feel. you just don't talk about it.

Hibiki doesn't talk about it either when you two hang out in your room. you play games and games and games and wonder if this is all your friendship will ever amount to—distractions and things left unsaid, despite how you see him open his mouth and you think it'll finally finally FINALLY be the time to talk about this,

...

But the words you want to hear do not leave his lips, and instead he takes hold of the controller and asks you if you want to play another game.

...

You'll forget about this bitterness, because this won't be the end of your friendship, you think, but this is how it starts to die: in the small doses of mistrust when you both look at the poster of a girl with teal hair neatly put into pigtails, in the silence that looms over your shoulders, and in home never quite feeling like it's yours. As if you took the place of the girl in the poster and your best friend is forced to pretend this is what normalcy is.

It isn't normal, though. he knows—knew—her, you can feel it, but he shrugs and pretends he feels nothing when he sees her photo. So you pretend you do not feel the grasp of his hand around yours tightening, or the unspoken request that you stay. That you unpack all your things, clean your room, and stay.

So you do.

What he does not tell you is that he will be the first one to leave.

You've seen his back countless times when he promised to protect you from whatever is out there, but maybe this one hurts the most—because he weaves his words so skillfully when he says he'll always, always come back. It's only a quick delivery, but once he gets a taste of adventure with the sun piercing his skin and his voice echoing in the wind, the betrayal will become clear.

Very, very clear.

You save his number on your POKéGEAR, "just in case."

...

When it rings, you pick it up, and you are forced to believe that this is what normalcy is—that this is supposed to be normal and your best friend is out there living his life and you are here and you are here and you are still here and new bark town is home and it will always be home and that the tall trees around you keep you from wandering too far—

The colors on the poster have faded, and some have already been covered with flyers of new businesses. Her legend remains like an afterthought to an epic, her name whispered as if a secret that if spoken, would destroy the illusion of peace.

You didn't believe in that, anyway. Your heartbeat and the calm look on your face is a juxtaposition—but such things are trivial, even comedic, when you've grown tired of questioning yourself, time and time again, If it's about time you stop running away—and it is. The POKéGEAR rings, once, twice, and you wonder how you still have signal in here. what you think about next is what you're supposed to tell hibiki.

With a voice far too saccharine and light footsteps echoing in the ruins,

keep answering your POKéGEAR and

come here.


End file.
